Because Everything Has an Origin

4/5-4/6: Do I have issues with fatigue during my period? Why, yes I do--and that is why it's taken me 3 days to get back to a "daily" blog. Yeah, yeah--so much pressure. 
Looking back (actually, thinking back) I see how folks could read my blog and think that I believe depression can be cured by pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, etc. I do NOT, for the record, believe that. In fact, things have been perfectly fine before and the lack of logic or justification for the sadness I felt was part of the indication that things were not right.
What I'm actually trying to do is establish a new baseline; I used to be a very active person. I loved to bike, to hike, went to martial arts 3-5 times weekly, went to the gym about that many times--I'd try anything outdoors, like rafting or canoeing or whatever. 
In the last several years, though, my activity level has dwindled alarmingly. It's not that I'm unable to do these things, (well, maybe the things that take money), but I have lost my original baseline in all the hubbub. So I want to try to take back that baseline. The incident that had most to do with it I'll explain here.
I had stopped going to martial arts in 2004 for personal and financial reasons. I gained weight, lost a job and went through a bad patch personally. I got a good job in 2005, started working out again, went to class again--everything seemed good. Then in spring of 2007, things went very wonky.
I came home from aikido and became very upset with my kids, Morgan and Heather, (Alexander lived with his dad), for not cleaning the kitchen. At the time we lived in a tiny apartment and it was easy for the place to appear cluttered; my reaction to typical kid inaction was, in a non-threatening word, disproportionate. I was ridiculously angry; I even threatened to hit my kids. 
I didn't want to hit my kids; there was a part of me watching my behavior, as if I was standing outside of myself and unable to stop me--almost as if I were someone else. I have been told by psychological professionals that this is called "disassociation" and is close to what is called a "fugue state" (or was--what are we, on DSM V now??) In other words, I did NOT have control over my behavior at the time. Doesn't excuse it, but it may help explain what happened next.
My kids left; their father came and picked them up because they felt they were in danger. Before they left I begged them not to go. I called them & begged them to come back. I began crying uncontrollably, thinking I had lost my children forever. So I went to the kitchen to find something sharp to kill myself with. 
I had nothing; not even my knives were sharp enough to damage me. I started sawing away at my wrists with razors--anything I could find. I finally, finally drew blood but the trickle wasn't significant--it clotted immediately. At last I decided to call 911--not to save myself, at least not at first--but because I needed something more lethal and figured they might have something. I wasn't really thinking clearly--didn't think about suicide by cop or any of that. Just thought--I need help. 
The operator stayed with me until the police burst in with paramedics who bandaged my wrists tightly then left. The police put zip cuffs on me and took me, crying and humiliated, to the squad car and from there to a hospital.
I cried quite literally all night long. At first there was no room available for me so they put me in the hall of the Emergency ward. The nice policeman sat with me until he knew someone would be watching me constantly and then, and only then, did he leave--so if I have a soft spot for lawmen, it's not just 'cause I've trained with them. They have actually saved my life.
They took blood. On a sudden hunch, I asked them to please check my hormone levels. In the morning a counselor came in and talked to me. I'd finally cried myself out around dawn, though I didn't really sleep. I called in sick to work. I called my kids who had been calling me and were worried sick themselves. The counselor told me I could stay if I felt like I was going to harm myself or others. Strangely, I did not; whatever it was had passed completely. So I signed a behavior contract promising that if I ever felt like that again, I would call the mental health crisis line. Then I called a good friend who picked me up at the hospital and drove me home.
That day I started my period. My hunch about the hormones? I'd been feeling steadily more depressed with the past few months' PMS episodes, and had done the math in the hospital--I figured I was due, and I was right. Soon as I got the thing, though, my mind calmed down, so I thought it had to be hormone related.
I went to the doctor that day; the blood was normal, they didn't test for hormones because it wasn't standard, and the only thing slightly out of whack was low potassium. They put me on my first anti-depressant and sent me home. 
It took me two months, but after having another PMS episode with an anxiety attack (apparently, wellbutrin contributes to higher anxiety levels. Who knew? Oh, yeah--the damned doctor!!) I finally got into a menopause specialist, Dr Randi Ledbetter. I say her name because you want to remember people who believe you when you feel like no one else does. 
She told me I probably had a low-grade depression all my life, (which made sense in retrospect), but had been able to control it with diet, exercise, and herbal medicine (like St. John's Wort). I had entered a stage called Perimenopause, during which it was not at all uncommon for depression symptoms to emerge or become exponentially worse. I was not alone, she said.
I asked her if, because the only thing altered in my blood was the potassium level and because Yaz raised potassium--should I take it? She thought it was a good idea, and for awhile I was on it. She told me she wanted me to never have a period again, and I really liked that idea. For awhile there was no cyclical depressed behavior, just normal everyday stuff--not great, but not so bad I ever wanted to harm myself again.
Unfortunately, I have since lost that very good job (laid off--it was related to the housing industry) and my insurance. Even with the state discount prescription drug program, birth control is high because it's considered optional. (Now some of you folks my understand my stance on publicly funded birth control--it isn't just for folks looking to score). I can no longer afford it, but fortunately my antidepressant is inexpensive and I still take it. Not wellbutrin; I began taking celexa a year or two later and eventually stopped the wellbutrin when I heard it raises blood pressure (why invite trouble?)


I have not, since that night, attempted suicide ever again. I have called that hotline number, because there has been at least one time when I felt that I wanted to kill myself. Well, actually--I didn't want to harm myself; I didn't feel violent. I just wanted to stop being. Just--cease to exist, forevermore. Needless to say, they adjusted my meds ;o) 
For those of you who have not felt this, please understand this is not a LOGICAL feeling. When bad things happen to you, you feel sadness, but that's a perfectly normal response to bad fortune. When you have a good job, great kids and have just come home from an activity you love--and you still have problems--that's when it's a disease, not a temporary state of mind. 


For all of you out there who have depression, whose stories are similar to mine (at least in some elements), please--keep your local hotline numbers handy. Take your meds and NEVER go off of them without a doctor's supervision. And above all else, even when you feel so badly about yourself that you also want to stop existing--keep existing. Your contribution to the world is not yet known and isn't measurable or quantifiable. You mean something, even when you think you don't. Call a friend, call the hotline--but get help. And if you can't tell yourself that you're worth something and believe it when all is dark and you're alone--believe ME. You are worth saving. And contact me through this blog. It may take me a bit to get back to you, but I'll put my money where my mouth is.


OK--life is very heavy all of a sudden. Did you know that ice cream has some of the same ingredients as antidepressants? It's true-it is the tastiest antidepressant I know. I prescribe a daily regimen, if possible. Tell the ice cream parlor guy that it's a medical requirement. But don't be surprised if insurance won't cover it.

What Happens If You Don't Clear the Hump?

4/4--Ahh. Today (Wednesday) was not a productive day. Which is not to say it was not a good day. Unless of course, you base your definitions of "good" on whether anything is accomplished. 
Yes, the kitchen dishes did daunt me. Not initially, but ultimately--I think it started when I couldn't sleep.  Finally slept on toward morning but, of course, woke up later than helpful (about 11am). This after getting a call postponing my job start date to Wednesday next week. That wasn't terribly disappointing, really--but there was just a feeling of complete lack of energy. Lack of vitamins? I don't know. 
I may have started my period, which would explain lack of energy. WHY? Oh, yeah, because my body isn't yet hip to the fact that I am too fucking old to have kids. Or this is revenge for being on the pill for 8 years. 
So--back to a day filled with nothing. I ran some errands with my daughter. We argued, so there is that energy drain, but really--it was over quickly. I cross-stitched and did idle things. I tried the almond milk on cereal; it was amazing. I think I am a convert. Other than that I ate badly, starting about 3pm with the consumption of nearly all of a can of reduced fat Pringles. That can't be good for you--especially since there was so much salt involved I had a distinct pucker when I finished. 
*sigh* At some point I figured out the workout wasn't going to happen. That I wasn't going to make it happen. Doesn't mean I give up on the week; as that bitch Scarlett O'Hara once said, "Tomorrow is another day." Actually, I no longer believe her to be a bitch--just a powerful woman born before her time. Not that folks wouldn't call her that these days, too. So--tomorrow is tomorrow, not filled with punishment for today but with stronger striving for better results.
Heather asked me in kind of a roundabout way why I am visibly trying harder to function, and I told her I had to. I think I saw how I've been living. Checked off a mental checklist of "signs you are not doing well" and had too many things checked. Got sick of the smell of things. Wanted to not be on "Hoarders" one day. I dunno. It's not an epiphany, it's not always distinct, at least at first. Retrospect may show me the event, but right now I'm not looking at it--maybe it's too embarrassing, like picking my nose in public. I'll figure it out when I need to, I guess. 
In the meantime--the weird thing: I am helping other people. Not yet with this blog, but yeah--I hope it will eventually. I've been fielding calls and texts and messages from other folks who are having bad days and mild melt downs; my friends who, for reasons unknown to me, feel they can rely on me during their crises. I pray I do not let them down, because it means a lot to me that they feel that way. It makes me feel stronger, more connected, more human. And I hope like hell the advice I give, the prayers and energy I send their way will all be good for them. I marvel that when I hang up or say goodnight or what not that I go back to feeling small and off-center. 
Oh--since I didn't work out, I didn't shower. You folks need to know that. It's always been something I do--I shower every day. If I don't shower, there's not one available. I stopped showering every day some time over a year ago; I don't remember exactly when. I still do when I'm working, but when I'm not, I sometimes don't. Feeling good is often replaced by feeling "good enough", and there is a distinct difference between those two. So if the measure of success is whether or not I did some routine things to establish good hygiene (I did brush my teeth & take my meds), make myself look good, etc--I failed. I got dressed for my workout and then didn't go. And kept the sweats on all day as if I would, eventually, get to the gym. Well, it's midnite-thirty and yesterday is over. That's one way to tell if someone's depression or whatever may be getting worse: the neglect of the personal self. We may talk more of that later.
In the meantime, here's a bedtime story: some 20 years or so ago I took a wellness training course, designed to increase leadership and effectiveness--rather like the training Stephen Covey's group holds these days, but probably more detailed. One of the things I learned from it that I've never forgotten is that feeling bad about something you've done or not done--remorse, I guess, or regret--should be commensurate (if I'm using that word correctly) with the crime, at least in duration. Because in the end, it changes nothing, not even yourself. You can be profoundly sorry you did something, but that something will not become undone because of how long you feel, how much you feel regret for having done it. Same with not doing something--in fact, if you choose to use your energy simply to feel badly for not having done something you should, then you may have none left to take remedial action. 
In other words: regret/remorse become self-pity at some point, which is indulgent. While it is important to acknowledge the ideal course of action that would have yielded better results, it is just as important to not mire yourself into the feelings that become non-productive self-loathing. In fact, they had a phrase to use just in case that should start to happen: "So what--NOW what?" 
They had other things to use to illuminate occasions when you were heading into this behavior, other coping methods to get out of it, but this is the one that sticks with me. I've heard others use it; it is good to use as a kind of mantra or affirmation for learning from your past and starting anew. I have not killed humanity, nor doomed the earth to certain destruction; I have not killed anyone, nor allowed harm to come to anyone through my inaction; I have merely not done the best I could, today. "So what--NOW what?" 
Now I get my ass to bed, and work it off tomorrow. 

4/3 into 4/4 --Addendum to earlier post: the day did actually get better. Worked out. Turned in form. Cooked dinner. Embraced the mundane. However, some perverse nature of mine convinced me to cook something complicated (to me) for dinner and make brownies for dessert. I almost faltered when the dishes I'd thought were clean in the dishwasher were found to have gone through the last half of their cycle without water (my fault) and were--slimy, for lack of a better word. When I put them back in to rinse it almost set me back, but I got up & cooked anyway. Now to not allow the dishes that are still dirty and the large amount of cooking oil that must now be disposed of (we had chicken fingers) to daunt me tomorrow morning. Oh--further good news, the to-do list has 40% marked off. All in all an almost productive day. 
For those of you who are fully capable of going through a day like this without blinking, without pause, to do this again and again without getting discouraged that you are just wearing tracks in your carpet or floor without making any kind of extraneous or obvious progress--I don't really do that well. I used to be OCD, for crying out loud--now, it's a victory to make my bed. (Well, that's usually 'cause there's always someone IN it--furry or not). I cannot stand routine. It wears on me like a burr under a saddle. It's the irremovable rash; the buildup of bubbles in a shaken soda pop--I cannot bear it for long. That's why this is a victory. Somehow to see the ordinary world in shades of color other than gray (figuratively). Ok--this is starting to be whining instead of explaining, so I'll stop now. 
What I get from all this is that I am still trying to justify or excuse what I am and how I feel, to put myself in the same category as people without my illness. That's what all the whining and explaining is really about. Maybe with all this elucidation I will figure that out more than intellectually. 
More tomorrow. 

Tuesday--Looks Like Monday to Me

4/3/2012--This is the first day of the blog that is my depression diary. I have to remember to try not to make a big production out of it--it's not like my friends' political blogs or professional update pages. This is about me, and my daily struggle with an invisible disease that has been working very hard in the past 5 years to be a fatal one. I plan to blog for a year to start with, and we'll see how it goes from there.
Today has not been a great day in terms of circumstance, but so far I seem to be dealing with things with more aplomb and less sadness. I woke to find my unemployment benefits not paid because I have a form to return--yet again. That they just turn off my benefits without notice is horrible--hard to keep the family going on nothing. Thank god for friends, but I think my friendships have been taxed to the maximum, especially since being unemployed.
While sitting to drink tea and compose myself for going into the unemployment office to turn in my form, workout and then tackle my to do list, my sweet old lady Siamese kitty starts the regurgitation motions. I get her off the bed, AWAY from my slippers, and then go get stuff to clean up. I am congratulating myself on the way because, not too long ago, I'd have thrown a paper towel over it and just let it go for the time being. I know--icky, but that's depression and not wanting to deal with reality.
So--go to throw the dirty paper towels in the toilet (trash was full & they smelled anyway) and I clogged the toilet, causing it to overflow. I mopped it up, using cleaner and making sure all the puddles were absorbed.
Does this sound like normal stuff to do? Yes, yes it is. A bad day, maybe, but most folks know how to deal with this. Maybe cursing, maybe singing--I dunno, but most people don't look at it as an accomplishment to clean this up. It simply has to happen, right? 
Well, for me it's an accomplishment. I cleaned it up. I'm not letting it get in the way of today--I still plan to go work out, still need to go to the unemployment office, still need to clean the other things that need cleaning. Today depression does not win and I do NOT go back to bed and hide. I do NOT play computer games until my mind turns to jelly. I do NOT watch TV until my brain seeps out my ears. I do NOT spend money I don't have reading crappy fiction until I fall asleep. Today, at least for today, I live.
It's only noon thirty, though. I'll update later, but let's see how it all plays out.
Thanks for reading my blog. If it helps you, great. If you know someone with the same condition and think it would help them, terrific. There will be bad days in my future, but with love and support, I'll get through them. And I'll write about them here, so others know they're not alone.